


snip snip bitch

by batsquatch



Category: X-Force (Comics)
Genre: Haircuts, M/M, loosely based off canon, when julio ditches, x-force #43-59
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsquatch/pseuds/batsquatch
Summary: Julio Richter gets a haircut.





	1. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which 'Star is made under duress

They’re both lying.

 

Julio bumps Shatterstar’s arm as they make their way through the door. The room is large, the light is low, and the music is loud enough that they can feel it in their teeth. Julio almost has to shout when he says, “‘Star, is this great or what?”

‘Star doesn’t turn to face him when he says, “Or what,” and Julio has to lean back to see  his expression. He needn’t have bothered; Shatterstar is, as always, unreadable.

Julio pretends not to hear. “What?” he shouts.

“Exactly,” says ‘Star. His arms are crossed. Wearing a grey blazer over a dark turtleneck, hair loose, he looks like something between a disgruntled art student and a brooding anime character––fantastically out of place under the strobe lights and bass.

“What?” Julio repeats.

“Never mind,” Shatterstar says.

That won’t do. Julio takes his hand. “Come on, man,” he says, attempting to lead him toward the dance floor. “You gotta loosen up!”

‘Star doesn’t budge. He finally looks down, and the milky-white eye catches Julio’s. Julio freezes.

“I might, Rictor,” Shatterstar says flatly, “were it not for the fact that this place reminds me far too much of my homeworld.”

Julio ignores the feeling in his stomach. He is determined to meet some girls and have a nice time tonight––they haven’t had free time in ages. He opts to pretend, once again, that he can’t make out ‘Star’s words over the music.

“What?” he says again, giving up on ‘Star’s hand and starting forwards.

‘Star is silent. Julio sidles up next to a girl on the dance floor. He misses whatever it is she says to him, because behind him, he hears Shatterstar mutter, “Nothing.”

 

Shatterstar hesitates for a moment, alone in the crowd, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he sticks out like a sore finger. His legs feel too long and his hair feels too bright; for the first time in a while, he wishes he could hide the star mark.

Julio looks like he’s having the time of his life. He knows how to handle this situation; he hits it off with the girl immediately, laughing at something she says and flashing a heart-melting grin. Shatterstar feels something tighten in his gut as he watches Julio take her hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

Julio moves to the music with grace he doesn’t usually possess. In life and battle he acts loudly, brashly, and with little finesse. (It’s one of the things Shatterstar appreciates about Julio; despite the complexity of Earth’s societal norms, his lack of regard for them is both admirable and audacious.) Given the venue, perhaps his manner simply suits the environment. In comparison, Shatterstar is awkward and stiff, uncertain of how to act. A battle, he understands. But a nightclub? Despite its likeness to Mojoworld, Shatterstar cannot parse an objective. What, precisely, does victory entail? Presumably, he is here to have _fun_.

He starts to make his way towards the bar. He doesn’t have an ID, but at the very least he can sit down. But as he turns, he jostles the back of a woman, spilling her drink down her front.

“Hey, you spilled my––” she starts, turning to face him. She looks up, and her scowl widens into a catlike grin. She places a hand on his shoulder. Her nails dig into his skin through his jacket. “We dance,” she says. “Now.”

“But I don’t––” Shatterstar protests, but she cuts him off.

“ _Now_ ,” she insists, moving her hands to the back of his neck. “Or I eat you alive right here in front of everyone!”

Before he can say anything else, she’s moving, turning around and grinding up against him.

“My name’s Stecky!” she shouts over the music. “What’s yours?”

“There is no need to shout,” Shatterstar says. “I can hear you clearly.”

He makes to step away, but he is caged in on all sides by more bodies.

Stecky twists around again. Her hand makes its way up his chest. “So,” she repeats, “what’s yours?”

“Uh,” says Shatterstar. In vain, he twists his head around to find a way through the crowd. The flashing lights make it impossible to see anything. “Gadreeva,” he lies. The word feels foul in his mouth. “That is my name.”

Another flash of the strobe lights, and he catches sight of Julio, dancing beside the girl. Their eyes meet across the floor as he does something _obscene_ with his hips; Stecky’s hand traces lower.

Stecky says something else, but Shatterstar doesn’t really hear her. Warmth bloom slow in his stomach––he feels confused, and afraid, and mostly––

“I have to leave _now_ ,” he says, and darts towards the door.

Julio stops in his tracks as Shatterstar abruptly turns and shoulders his way through the crowd, movements sharp and clumsy. The look on his face had been one of fear and dread, but that wasn’t all of it––

“I’m sorry,” he says to the girl. “My friend––I have to go.”

He turns and plunges into the crowd, but quickly finds himself stuck between a shrieking gaggle of kids his age and a couple that may or may not have been having sex. By the time he breaks free of the crowd, Shatterstar is nowhere in sight.

Julio kicks open the door to find him huddled on the front stoop, knees drawn up to his chest. It’s raining now, and water is gathering on the steps and sidewalk. ‘Star’s face is hidden behind a curtain of red hair. Beyond him, the city is a bland wash of damp grey.

Julio leans against the wall behind him and kicks one leg over the other. Shatterstar had almost certainly heard him approach, but he hasn’t acknowledged his presence.

“There something you wanna talk about, ‘Star?” says Julio.

Shatterstar doesn’t move. “I don’t think you would understand,” he says.

“Try me,” Julio says. He’s surprised at how easily it slips out. He’s acknowledging something neither of them have had the courage to––what he’d felt, watching ‘Star and that woman, and what he’d seen in ‘Star’s face.

He expects to regret the words immediately, but then Shatterstar exhales.

“Alright,” he says, eyes trained on his boots. He’s silent for a moment––so long that Julio is about to ask him if he’s alright, before he says, “I have never been with anyone… like that… in that way. I have never––” He stops. Rubs a hand over his mouth.

When it becomes clear he’s not going to continue, Julio sighs. “‘Star, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “I mean, I talk a good game, but…” he swallows. “I never hit a _home run_ either.”

Down on the steps, Shatterstar tenses.

“I am not making myself clear,” ‘Star says. His voice is quiet enough that Julio has to strain to hear him. “Until tonight, I had never felt… such stirrings within me.”

“Oh,” says Julio, mind reeling. Had it been anyone else, he would find the trite wording hilarious––but this is Shatterstar. This is just about as far from funny as it gets. He scrambles to rationalize. “Listen, you’re not from this planet––so maybe, y’know––that’s _normal_ .” He steels himself before asking the next question. “Are you––I mean––” He clears his throat. “Do you–– _have_ ––what it takes?”

Part of him wishes he could melt into the floor. Part of him feels like a nosy asshole for asking. Part of him––something buried deep, something he’s not sure he likes––is burning with curiosity.

“I was bioengineered to fully simulate physical human interaction,” says Shatterstar after a moment, and Julio thinks that it’s a good thing neither of them can see the other’s face. Then, Shatterstar shifts, huddling smaller against the wet bricks. “But I still… They didn’t _program_ the… emotional requirements attached to such actions here.”

Julio takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Okay,” he says. “That’s cool. You don’t have to feel anything. Some people don’t…”

Down the street, a dog starts barking. Shatterstar starts to stand.

“Look,” Julio says. “Don’t let anyone tell you you have to feel any way you don’t. This stuff… feelings and shit… it’s complicated.”

Shatterstar stands at his full height now, and he looks down, trapping Julio’s eyes with his own. Julio feels like he’s drowning. He feels like he’s on fire. On a whim, he places a hand on ‘Star’s shoulder. Shatterstar leans into his touch.

A car speeds by, kicking up water, and Julio steps away, breaking contact.

He swallows. “We’ll work it out,” he says. “Together.”

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Julio is a coward

“So those of you who have been holding back,” says Cable, handing Shatterstar a wad of purple-black fabric, “think again.”

‘Star is grinning like a kid at Christmas, but Julio’s stomach has been slowly sinking for the duration of Cable’s briefing. Everything so far has been fine––good, even––but he’s waiting for the kicker.

“That goes for me too,” Cable says. He turns to Julio and shoves a uniform into his arms. “Which is why we’re going to work more  _ telepathically _ .”

There it is. Dread freezes Julio where he stands.

“You’re gonna be in our  _ heads _ ?” he says. 

Panic wraps itself around his skull and squeezes. Julio thinks of everything he stands to lose, everything he has to hide; what he thinks about before sleeping each night; the magazines in the shoebox hidden at the back of his closet; who he pictures when he jerks off; what he _feels_ in his chest when Shatterstar looks at him. What he's _felt_ that night in the club––what he'd seen echoed on ‘Star’s face, plain as day.

It's so stupid. He's so stupid––he almost convinces himself he'd heard wrong. This couldn't be happening. Out of everything that could have gone wrong, this was the worst thing possible.

But it is happening. It feels like something has crawled into the inside of his skull. It feels like fishing wire has been wrapped around his brain. It feels ten kinds of wrong––it feels like the worst kind of violation––and Julio wants to crack his head open and tear it out, screw the damage. 

The line hums.  _ Yep _ , says Cable’s voice.

Julio scrambles to remember how to put up a mental block––it’s weak at best, and if Cable stays out for now, it’s only out of courtesy––and shoots him a look he hopes says  _ go fuck yourself _ .

Cable arches an eyebrow. 

“Look,” says Julio, voice steady, despite himself, “I’ll wear the uniform, but this business of you being in our heads––my thoughts are my own.”

Cable looks him in the eyes. Julio tries to hold his gaze, but after a moment, he’s forced to look away. 

“I understand your concerns,” Cable says, and Julio does his best not to roll his eyes. “But this is for the best.”

Maybe it’s the flippancy of his dismissal, and maybe it’s the patronizing tone, and maybe it’s just that Julio has been up at night recently, but that does it. Julio is done. 

“You talk a new game, Cable––but it’s the  _ same old song _ ,” he says, and spins on his heel. He’s angry––he hasn’t been this angry in a while, and it feels good. It feels powerful. Blood pounds in his ears; the earth tugs at the chambers of his heart. “Fuck this,” he spits, shoving Caliban aside as he storms through the door. He slams it behind him, and the sound echoes down the suddenly quiet hallway.

Julio leans against the wall and tries to slow his breathing. He feels––he feels insane. Like punching something. Like his head is about to explode. The earth is straining against him now, begging for release. He digs his fingernails into his arm. 

_ In _ .  _ Out. _

He’s afraid, he’s so  _ afraid _ ––he doesn’t know what Cable might have seen. He doesn’t know how Cable, or Domino, or Tabby or anyone would react. He’s afraid, and he feels pathetic.

_ In _ .

The door bangs open, and Julio jumps. Shatterstar bursts into the hallway, eyes wide.

The earth heaves against him.

“Rictor, wait!” 'Star says, and then stops at the expression on Julio’s face. “There has to be a way to work this out.”

Julio looks at the ceiling, then the floor, and then finally back at ‘Star. The words feel like rocks in his throat. “‘Star…” he says, watching Shatterstar’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I gotta think it through. Maybe if I take some time off––get away––I haven’t been home in a long time.” It feels like bullshit. “My family needs me.” It  _ is _ bullshit. It's a pathetic excuse, and Julio is a coward.

“But  _ I _ need you,” says ‘Star. 

His eyes are wide. Julio knows he’s spent the better part of his life as a gladiator-slave. He’s killed things Julio can’t imagine. They've been in battle together––Shatterstar has faced Mojo. Shatterstar has transferred bodies. Shatterstar has watched  _ Home Alone _ . And yet, this is as scared as Julio has ever seen him. He wishes he didn't know that. 

“Please,” Shatterstar continues, voice breaking. “ _ Julio _ ––you’re my best––my  _ only  _ friend.” 

And, shit, hearing his name like that is almost enough to make him stay. Almost. 

“I’ll  _ always _ be there for you,  _ amigo _ . You or anybody else on this team needs me––all you gotta do is ask.” He means it. He really does.

‘Star is standing close to him––so close Julio can taste his breath. So close Julio can count his eyelashes. Julio’s back is to the wall, his head tilted up so that he can look ‘Star in the eyes––wide, frightened eyes. He feels like he’s drowning. Julio’s back is to the wall, and he does the only thing he  _ can _ do. He leans towards him.

‘Star’s lips are soft, and when Julio pulls back, he sees they're parted in surprise. 'Star's face is flushed, his hair disheveled––he’s gorgeous. He doesn’t say anything; he just looks at Julio, face unreadable.

Julio’s stomach drops.

“Shit,” says Julio. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean––I wouldn’t––”

‘Star surges forwards, and suddenly Julio is pressed back against the wall, and ‘Star is kissing him,  _ hard _ , and Julio’s fingers are tangling in his hair, and Julio is kissing back, and maybe it’s not good, but at the same time it’s  _ good _ , and it’s all so, so much. It’s longer before they break apart this time. 

When they do, Julio is shaking. Everything is shaking. He sinks to the floor, and ‘Star comes down with him. He needs to get outdoors––he needs to breathe. He feels cut off inside, like he’s missing something integral––his heart, or his liver, or his lungs. He’s floating in space. He can’t find the ground. ‘Star wraps his arms around him and draws him in close, and Julio breathes him in. 

_ In _ ,  _ out _ .

The earth stills.

After a moment, he draws back. His face is wet. ‘Star’s hands brush his hair out of his face, achingly gentle, then move to cup his cheeks. His touch is warm, and Julio can’t help but lean into it.

“This is me asking,” Shatterstar says, voice hoarse. Julio thinks maybe his heart is breaking.

“I’m sorry,” Julio says.

He books a flight the next morning.

 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Julio has a really weird dream  
> tw slight homophobia

The first thing Julio’s mother does when he meets her at the gate his hug him. The second thing she does is critique his appearance:

“Julio, _mijo_ , it’s so good to see you. I missed you,” she says, stepping back and looking him over. “It’s been so long. You grew your hair out. You better cut it when we get home––no son of mine is going to walk around looking like a _greñudo_." She glances at his clothing. "And none of that punky stuff in my house, got it?”

“It’s _punk_ , mamá,” Julio says, suppressing a smile. It almost feels like nothing has changed. Almost. He kisses her on the cheek. “I missed you, too.”

They drive back to the house in a car Julio doesn’t recognize––he realizes with a pang that it must be new. It’s late, and when they pull into the driveway, the house is silent. His mother insists on helping him with his bags, brushing aside his protests, and the sound of suitcase wheels clipping the threshold is loud in the dark.

“Shoes off,” says his mother. 

Julio kicks them off into the corner.

“Ah––” she says, lightly slapping his arm. “Nicely. On the rack.”

He grabs the boots and sets them side by side on the rack before following her into the kitchen. She doesn’t turn on the lights, and the house is dreamlike in the faint light filtering in through the windows. Everything is almost familiar; the old photos on the walls are mixed with new ones, and the throw pillows on the sofa are different. 

“Your old room is the guest room now,” says his mother. “You can sleep there.”

They lug his baggage up the stairs. Julio puts his bags down against the wall and regards the room. The covers on the bed have changed. 

“Goodnight, mamá,” he says, kissing her again. “I love you.” He’d never used to say that. 

His mother smiles. “I love you too, _mijo_.” She shuts the door, leaving Julio alone in a room that isn’t really his.

 

Technically, she’s his stepmother, but she’d raised him, and Julio doesn’t deal in technicalities. He finds them dry and depressing. _Technically_ , Julio had kissed one of his closest  friends before abandoning him in a time of need. _Technically_ , flavored sparkling water was a soda.

Technically, since he’d left X-Force, Julio hasn’t felt right. He isn’t panicked, he’s not scared, but with each day that passes, the feeling that something big and terrifying is brewing on the horizon grows. He feels it approaching but does nothing to prepare; rather, he has elected to ignore it in hopes that it simply dissipates on its own. He is no longer floating in space. He has returned to the earth, wrapping himself up what should be familiar and pretending everything is fine. 

Everything is not fine.

Julio feeds the chickens, who are all little bastards. It is a rule of life that all chickens are little bastards. Today, he is determined that none of them will get loose.

Carefully, slowly, he eases the gate open with one foot, balancing the feed bag under his arm.

“Stay still, you tiny assholes,” he mutters, inching forwards.

The chickens, congregated in front of the henhouse, stare back at him. 

“You’re so stupid,” he says. “I’m trying to feed you. Food,” he says, gesturing with the bag. “You eat it.”

He’s about to let the gate swing shut when one of the chickens darts between his legs and out into the yard. Julio, who has by now dealt with this enough times to know what's to do, drops the feed bag outside the fence and follows the chicken through the gate, making sure to lock it behind him.

As he chases it in circles around the yard, loudly cussing it out, he thinks about the sequence of events that had brought him here. He’s afraid––that one is simple. That one's easy. He’d have to be stupid or in denial to pretend he isn’t afraid, and he is neither. What he _is_ is in love with one of his closest  friends. In love with one of his closest  friends, and _deeply fucking afraid_.

Julio hadn’t ever really expected to come back, not after everything that had happened the last time he’d been there. He hadn’t anticipated his mother and his old room and the fucking chickens. He loves Guadalajara––shit, he’d missed Guadalajara like crazy––but late at night, the shadows all look like his father, and each time the house settles and groans against its foundations, Julio remembers the single moment of savage elation he'd felt as he shook down three city blocks.

Suddenly, he feels an ache in his chest, sharp, like a hook on a line being snapped tight. He feels like he’s being stretched over thousands of miles; he feels infinitesimally small. He feels like the sky is going to crush him into the dirt; he feels like the earth is going to swallow him.

He’s in the wrong place.

The earth shudders and heaves once, and then is still. Julio realizes he’s stopped moving. He looks down to see the chicken pecking at the dirt at his feet.

“Bastard,” he mutters, reaching down and scooping it up.

 

Sometimes, when everything got really bad, Julio would do what he’d thought about as “going away”. It had happened after his father died. It had happened after the Right. It’s happening now.

His body wakes up and heads downstairs, and it picks at breakfast and feeds the chickens and helps his mother navigate Twitter, but his brain isn’t there. Everything happens around him, but he’s a spectator, incapable of inflicting his will on anything or anyone. He’s not in control anymore. Even if he wanted to say something, he couldn’t. Every night, he climbs into the bed and lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. Sleep takes its time coming.

He misses ‘Star. He pretends he doesn’t.

 

It comes to a head when he breaks three plates. It isn’t on purpose. He doesn’t even notice it’s happened until his hand slips against the jagged edge of the ceramic. He jerks it back on instinct.

“Shit,” he hisses. 

The scratch is long and angry-looking. It stretches across his palm to the side of his wrist. Blood wells up along the edges. He realizes he'd been shaking. Everything had been shaking.

Half the family is over for dinner, but most of them are crowded in the living room around the TV. Everybody is silent, but that’s not what Julio notices. What he notices is the _Star Trek_ theme. 

 

The memory washes over him like an ocean wave, and he sinks into it. He finds himself standing in the base’s dingy kitchen, holding two glasses and carefully edging his way back to the rec room in the dark. Through the door, he can see ‘Star seated on the sofa, silhouetted against the television screen.

The theme music blares. Julio sits down beside Shatterstar and hands him one of the glasses.

“Thank you,” says ‘Star. Then, in time with the television, in an impression of William Shatner that matches tone and cadence exactly, he says, “Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds. To seek out––”

Julio bursts out laughing. He’d been stunned into silence for the better part of the speech, but what ‘Star is doing has finally registered. 

“Jesus, ‘Star,” he says. “So you _do_ have a sense of humor.”

‘Star grins. It’s the first time Julio has seen a smile on his face that reaches his eyes. It’s radiant.

 

 

“Julio,” his mother is saying. “Julio, are you listening to me?”

He blinks. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “Sorry, mamá.”

Maybe she hears something in his voice, or maybe she sees it in his eyes. Her voice is softer when she says, “Are you okay, _mijo_?”

Julio gestures with his hand. “Probably should get a bandaid or something,” he says.

“I’ll take care of the plates, okay? Go fix up your hand.”

He hates that she feels sorry for him. He puts about six bandaids on his hand and crawls into bed early. For the first time since he’s been home, he dreams.

In his dream, he’s on a spaceship. It isn’t one from real life, though––he struggles to remember why it’s familiar, and then it hits him: it’s the Enterprise. Julio is standing in front of the Turbolift doors, watching the bridge.

A flash of copper at the edge of his vision pulls his head around; he sees ‘Star bent over the science station, wearing the full Starfleet officer uniform. It dawns on Julio that this is probably a dream. For a moment, he wonders if it’s a sex dream. He wonders if that would totally suck. 

He can hear heavy bass now. It vibrates in his bones.

Dream–‘Star straightens up and strides to the captain’s chair, where a man with long, dark hair sits, back to Julio. Dream–‘Star turns his head and locks eyes with Julio, and as Julio watches, he reaches down and grabs a fistful of the captain’s hair, wrenching his head around so that Julio can see his face in profile. Eyes still on Julio, Dream–’Star kneels down beside the chair and kisses the captain, slowly and deeply. Julio can almost feel it.

The captain has Julio’s face.

The intensity of the bass deepens.

Julio wakes with a gasp, hard enough it's almost painful.

 

The next morning when he comes downstairs, his mother is waiting for him at the table. He fixes himself a glass of orange juice and sits down across from her.

“We need to talk,” she tells him. “You’ve been away for three years.”

Julio is caught off guard. He should have been expecting this. He had been, for about a week into his stay, but time passed and it never came. 

His mother’s eyes soften. “Did something happen, _mijo_? Are you okay?”

Tears, hot and heavy, weigh against the back of Julio’s eyes. He breathes in deeply. 

His mother places a hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” she says. “You can tell me anything. I love you no matter what. I promise.”

Julio exhales. Rubs a hand over his jaw. He's standing at the edge of the precipice of something monumental, something terrifying. He knows how to answer her question. He knows how she'll probably react. But––

 _You can tell me anything_ , she'd said. 

“I’m gay, mamá,” he whispers.

 

 

They argue for a long time. 

Finally, Julio stands up. The whole table is trembling. His body aches with the strain of control. He’s learned that his mother believes he’s choosing this. He’s learned that somehow, he’s defending himself. He’s learned that he _wants_ to defend himself. 

But when he says, “I want you to love me, but it has to be all of me,” it feels like a mistake. When he turns around and walks out the back door, it feels like he’s destroying something. When he sits down in the dirt, he feels like he’s lost the ground.

Some time later, his mother comes to find him. She lowers herself down beside him with a grunt.

“I don’t understand, _mijo_ ,” she says. “I’m sorry, I just don’t. But I love you. Okay? Even the parts I don’t understand. I want you to know that.”

Julio doesn’t look at her for a long time. When he does, her eyes are sad. He hates that they’re sad. He wonders if he should hate her, too. 

“Shit, mamá,” he says. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

She chuckles. He hugs her.

 

That night, he sits in front of the mirror in the upstairs bathroom, rolling a lock of hair between his fingers. He studies his face for a long time. He sees the shadow of stubble on his jaw.

There’s a pair of kitchen scissors on the counter in front of him.

Julio’s hair is long and dark. It falls just past his shoulder blades. Most days, he leaves it down. Once, he’d tied it back in a tail, and each time Tabby had passed him, she’d yanked it. Once, he’d sat in front of ‘Star and let him braid it the way he braided his. 

Once, on a whim, Julio had mentioned to ‘Star that he might cut it. ‘Star had looked at him for a moment, brow furrowed, before saying, “Even for a skilled warrior, long hair can be a liability,” so seriously Julio had had to laugh. 

Julio picks up the scissors.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dead souls established julio as a star trek fan and i guess here we are


End file.
